Hail, Freljord's Living Legend
by Guardian55
Summary: Four years ago, he appeared from a frozen lake. Aided by the Heart of the Freljord, he discovered himself. To the Frost Archer, he meant everything. With the Winter's Wrath, he found peace. Against the Ice Witch, he won all Freljord. Today, to the summoners of the Institute of War, to the champs of the League of Legends, he is a Living Legend... He is Hail. And this is his story.
1. Prologue

**P****rologue: "Hail, Freljord's Living Legend"**

_"If something doesn't kill me outright... that certain something had better start running. And it should run very, very fast because it won't take me long to get back up on my feet." _**-**** Hail, Freljord's Living Legend**

* * *

Even he, junior summoner Isaac Madden, had to admit it. What he was doing right now wasn't just daring. No, amongst the many other things he had ever done during his twenty-five years of being alive, this unquestionably took the cake. This task of his was just plain, downright crazy.

Truly, if any of Isaac's fellow journalists back at the libraries in the west wing of the Institute of War knew what he was doing out on the institute's grounds at the current moment, they would not be congratulating nor encouraging him during this mad venture of his. Instead, with sick humor, they would be going over what exactly his signed will and testament of today had to say… because if he made any mistake here and now and revealed himself to his surroundings, if he didn't keep up being smart like he'd been doing since some hours ago, the Winter Claw folk he was quietly sneaking amongst – even though they said they were reformed as the guardians of Freljord, not tyrants – would undoubtedly rough him up, grind him up, then feed him to their tethered Freljordian boars for supper.

Yes, like his adventurous forefathers before him, Isaac was more than likely going to get killed ones of these days during one of these crazy recon missions of his. Especially during such a mission like this one where he was doing his absolute best to blend in with formerly savage, suspicious, bitter hearted warriors of the north. And be it man, woman or child, it made no difference what Freljordian he ran into or slipped by. They all were and always would be tough pieces of work. Especially if they were members of the Winter Claws like now.

Since the very first day that they'd decided to join the League of Legends fourteen years ago, it was common knowledge nowadays to everyone whom lived within the walls of the Institute of War near the Great Barrier Mountains that the tough clans of Sejuani's – the Winter Wrath's – Winter Claws never enjoyed leaving their lands. Even more known, seeing as they had never taken to sleeping within the institute's secure dorms but had rather enjoyed resting in the company of one another in tents outside on the open grounds, they did not ever enjoy foreigners or uninvited guests like Isaac Madden roaming through their camps.

For example, back in the older days when she had initially stepped up as well as become the icy champion delegate of her fellow Winter Claws at the age of sixteen and even though trespassing into her visiting people's set up camps had been forbidden by the highest council of summoners, many a journalist had still dared to secretly nose their way into the restricted Winter Claw encampments. And each one of those subtle yet courageous summoners – truer than true journalists who had simply been looking for a good story on Sejuani's clans – that had made it to the young yet bitter Winter's Wrath herself… had come back inside the Institute of War bruised, scared terribly along with devoid of any kind of story they'd been hoping for.

Yet, those hurt journalists who had had the bravery to trespass into the Winter Claw camps back then hadn't been dense nor crazy nor reckless. Well, perhaps they had been reckless. Nevertheless, they had snuck into Sejuani's presence knowing the risks all the while.

Why do such a mad thing, you may ask? Why would they still go into hostile territory even though knowing the risks?

Quite remarkably, they did so for the sake of news itself, for the sake of eager fans across Runeterra. Not only that, they'd gone against their better judgment and the laws of the Institute of War all because to every good newsman alive, danger, suspense along with pressure came with the job. Danger was a familiarity which made the career thrilling. In the past, danger was what had made every victory for the journalists of the League of Legends all that more memorable. At the very moment, danger was what made everything so very exciting for trespassing Isaac.

Speaking of fine examples of facing down danger for the sake of news gathering, there had been Brian Hemrick, the Bold, during the year of 15CLE. Even though he had been interviewing an infamous poison master who had had a renowned, twitchy trigger finger, Brian had had the courage to speak with Twitch, the Plague Rat, about personal history. Sure, in the end, the good hearted journalist had been shot several times with a number of toxins by the impatient rodent's crossbow. Nevertheless, survivalist Brian had at least come back with information about the same rodent's plans to try to make a race of more plague rats in Zaun.

And the stunned world had appreciated hearing about that, no? Indeed, the news of Twitch wanting to make more rats like himself riled up the Zaunite peoples even more as well as caused them respect the Plague Rat all the more.

Then, in 18CLE, there had been Eric Adamson, the Durable. Braving the plain fact that he was asking questions to a sinister clown who enjoyed reaping death more than anything, Eric had asked Shaco, the Demon Jester, questions that fans wanted, no, NEEDED to know the answers to. Of course, halfway through the list of questions, the questioner in question had been stabbed numerous times by the person being questioned… Nevertheless, Eric had survived the sharp ordeal and had went on to satisfy the needy fans of Runeterra everywhere!

Like, did Shaco have a romantic interest? Perhaps. How had Shaco started his career as an assassin? With a knife. Why did Shaco… grin all of the time? That story was quite long. Why was he always so "serious" about everything? Indeed, why so serious?

And so, encouraged by the thoughts of daring journalists who had come before him, seeing as he had been readying himself for this mission for quite some time, considering the rewards he would receive if he managed to overcome the obvious obstacles in his way tonight, junior summoner/journalist Isaac couldn't allow uncertainty or fear to blind him from his goal.

For, in all seriousness, cowardice had never benefitted anyone in Runeterra. Never had it helped end the Rune Wars, never had it helped construct the League of Legends, never had it helped Ionia win its freedom from Noxus… and never had it helped successful Brian Hemrick nor Eric Adamson succeed during their daring work!

Never ever in the slightest had cowardice helped Isaac either. No, no, no. Never had it helped him in the past when he'd questioned the graceful Tidecaller, Nami, about her personal mission in finding the moonstone her people so dearly needed. Never had it helped him when he'd asked the annoyed Fallen Angel, Morganna, how she was plotting to triumph over her sister during the next skirmish to come. Never had it helped him whenever he had gotten cornered by the eerie Dark Child, Annie, who always repeatedly insisted he play with her and her, ahem, teddy or she would… burn him to a crisp.

Truly, if he had ever given in to cowardice in the past, would Isaac have made it through magic school back in Piltover? No. Would he have made it as well as gotten accepted onto the Institute of War's summoner board of recruits back last year in March? No. Most important of all, would he have managed to hand stitch himself his current replica of the holy cloak of the Winter Claws days ago, donned the said robe after today's fabulous Freljordian skirmish, tricked the guards back at the camp's entrance as well as been able to walk amid the Winter Wrath's kin like he was doing now?

Uh, duh, NO!

And like it had been made clear beforehand, Isaac was, at this very moment, triumphantly yet subtly walking through the Winter Claw encampment. The encampment which, as it'd always been built since Sejuani's very first championship battle fourteen years ago, was situated on the open, northern grounds just outside of the Institute of War's walls and in the shadows of the massive, southern Barrier Mountains.

Thus, while wearing his own fake holy cloak – a phony yet convincing piece of symbolic, dark colored, wool clothing originally given to only the holiest, wisest peoples of Sejuani's choosing – the junior journalist was feeling like what Piltover's Finest would best describe as a "double agent" deep inside enemy territory.

As for why Isaac was being such a supposedly brave, double agent at the moment, as for why he'd been preparing for this secret operation of daringly stealing through the forbidden Winter Claw camp for the last three months, it had not to do with Sejuani herself. Instead, it had to do with her mystical, fabled "hero" of a husband.

Wait, Sejuani's hero of a husband? What? When? How? At long last, Sejuani had a loved one? Well, maybe not a loved one but a man in her life?

Indeed, seeing as tonight was October 23rd of 24CLE (Current League Era), the entire world of Runeterra had been absolutely shocked almost a year ago – on the date of November 15th of 23CLE – when the Winter's Wrath had admitted to the public that she was engaged to a proper suitor. As for this particular suitor of hers, he had not become her chosen by being lucky nor had he used politics to corner her.

No, due to Sejuani's hero, the last few years for the northern reaches of Freljord had been quite an adventure truth be told. An adventure that had ended with the disappearance of the feared Ice Witch, a smalltime civil war between the Frostguard… and the later, peaceful unification of all Freljordian clans.

Yes, thanks to the Winter's Wrath's fabled husband, as hard as it was to believe or even imagine, Freljord was once again a content, unified kingdom today with a council of equal rulers. For the Avarosans, naturally, Queen Ashe as well as King Tryndamere – the Frost Archer and Barbarian King – still spoke. Meanwhile, Volibear, the Thunder's Roar, represented the ursine. Trundle, the Troll King, spoke for the now freed along with honorable mountain trolls and the recovering Frostguard clan. And as for the hardened Winter Claws, Sejuani and her husband represented them.

Just who was Sejuani's chosen though? Who was he; this respected hero of Freljord who had supposedly emerged from the depths of a frozen lake, who had bested the malicious Ice Witch in combat during the final battle in the highest reaches of the north, who had made allies where none could be found, who had – for the first time since so many centuries ago – diplomatically brought all of the frigid north together under one banner as well as stopped the raging war there?

Who was this glorified hero, rumored today to be… a truer than true ice born leading the north back onto a path of glory, honor and power? Well, despite people of all kinds having desperately wanted to know him since he had appeared, not much was known about Sejuani's husband/the hero of Freljord.

What was known nowadays or had been made clear since his acceptance into the League of Legends during last year's May was this; his name was Hail, Freljord's Living Legend. He was a natural born leader and he was going to make Freljord a place of respected might like it had been centuries ago before the coming of the mysterious, malicious creatures known as the Watchers. And with the way Hail as well as his fellow Freljordian champs had been winning streaks of skirmishes for the last year, Freljord's rise to power was fast becoming an obvious fact to everyone.

Indeed, thanks to Freljord's Living Legend's leadership during the recent past, the strength of the cold north was just as known today as Demacia's and Noxus's ancient rivalry.

Truly, having faced his wrath in the ring during past skirmishes on the Fields of Justice or having met him during his visits to the Institute of War, many other champions had admitted to journalists that Hail was a natural at leading. He had quite the dashing looks for a northerner, a respectable attitude, the charisma to make friends out of enemies as well as the loyalty of most if not all of his fellow people of the north.

At one time, Riven, the Exile, after she'd just been saved by him during a rough skirmish between all kinds of champions, had admired Hail's leadership skills.

At another time after having met him during an annual ball held for all sorts of important individuals in the League of Legends, Ahri, the Nine Tailed Fox, had supposedly joked about being jealous of Sejuani's luck in having found such a nice looking husband. Still, had that really been a joke… or a statement from the tricky vixen? No one but trickster Ahri could exactly tell today.

Sometime during last Februrary's skirmish where he had insulted him moments before their battle in mind-lane, Swain, the Master Tactician, had angrily admitted afterwards that Freljord's Living Legend was indeed strong enough to back up his own words. He'd also stated that it was a shame that Hail had made it plain during battle that he didn't share in the same ideas of conquest Noxus did but leaned more towards Demacia's own honor bound traditions.

And after today's legendary skirmish that had pitted all of Freljord's major champions against one another, Ashe herself had stated that Hail was the best thing that had come to Freljord in ages. For thanks to him, the north was not only unified nowadays but was gaining victory after victory in the League of Legends as well as earning the respect of everyone everywhere.

Of course, if the rumors about her always having hidden a deep, secret affection towards him since the day they met were true, the Frost Archer would say that about Freljord's Living Legend, wouldn't she? Yes, quite right. Still, clearly, Hail had given himself to the Winter's Wrath. So, to avoid complications between the clans of the Avarosa and the Winter Claws, such romantic gossip was kept quieter than quiet. It was not spoken of very much.

But where all of this said heroic stuff was commonly known about Hail today, there were so many other things that the citizens along with champions of Runeterra everywhere wanted ever so much to find out about him. Why was he so strong? Why was he so wise? Why had he married hardy Sejuani rather than compassionate Ashe?

Well, if a freaking miracle occurred for him tonight like hoped, if the rumors about this night were true, if he was able to get to the camp's center undetected where a certain tale was going to allegedly be told by the Winter Claw head elder, Agatha Icebane, Isaac would be able to hear of such important things about Freljord's Living Legend. Not only that but Isaac would even get the answers he needed to appease Hail's eager fans.

For instance, what undercover Isaac was hoping to hear from Agatha Icebane as well as jot down on his personal pad of paper during her storytelling tonight around the Winter Claw camp bonfire was this: during his campaign to unite the north and save everyone from a never ending winter, had Hail truly been blessed by the three sisters of Freljord to fight the Ice Witch?

Before he'd married her, had Hail really gone head to head with Sejuani and won the day by using only his bare fists?

Looking at the splendid armor he always wore into battle inside as well as outside the walls of the League of Legends, was Hail literally a walking piece of Freljordian history like the senior summoners believed? Or _wanted_ to believe, put better?

There were so many questions Isaac Madden wanted answered about Hail tonight. Well, they were more questions that the many peoples of Runeterra wanted answered.

Either way, now that he was inside of the Winter Claw camp even though he wasn't supposed to be, as he was getting closer to the center of the encampment to hear Agatha Icebane speak of what Hail had done for Freljord during the last number of years, Isaac could almost say his recon mission for journalism was a success. In another hour or two while remaining hidden amongst the Winter Claws at the camp center, the story of Hail would very well make the giddy junior journalist the next Brian Hemrick or Eric Adamson of Runeterra for sure!

Yes, naturally, as it always went with publishing stuff without permission from someone somewhere or whatnot, Isaac would get some complaints and maybe even some kind of punishments from the highest ranked summoners in the institute. However, their disagreements with Isaac wouldn't matter. Not when the thousands of fans along with peoples of Runeterra finally knew what they had always wanted to know about the fabled Living Legend of Freljord.

Be it political or private matters, everything would work themselves out in the end. One way or the other, everyone would be happy. Honestly, up to this point, it was no longer Hail's choice to selfishly keep his heroic story to himself. Sooner or later, as it had gone with every other champion of the league, someone was bound to hear of how exactly Freljord's Living Legend came to be the Winter's Wrath's husband, of how he'd defeated the Ice Witch, of how he'd unified the merciless north.

And tonight, if the gods helped him through the next trial to come, Isaac would be that exact someone who would hear of all of those things. Then, next, he would be the one who would go back to the libraries in the west wing of the Institute of War, go over all that he'd heard from elder Agatha and earn himself a good title if not the respect of journalists everywhere! Ha ha, yes! How splendid this night was going to be!

As he convincingly limped along on his own path, all that Isaac had to do now to secure himself Hail's intriguing story along with his own personal worldwide glory was a simple task; not get found out. Thus far, ever since he'd cunningly made his way right under the gazes of the rather stubborn yet persuaded guards at the camp's entrance, the spying junior journalist had the grunt, the walk as well as the fanatic attitude of one of the Winter Claw's holy men down perfectly.

Indeed, with the way Isaac was presently acting like he was under some kind of aggressive vision at all times, seeing as Winter Claws kept backing away from him respectfully, all of those past months of having studied the ways of Freljordian holy men had paid off! Not only that but the magic that Isaac had used to make himself appear more Freljordian seemed to of worked. For although he'd forever been a Piltovian of average height with dirty brown hair and green eyes, the junior journalist was practically the icy blue eyed, gray haired northerner he needed to be at the freaking moment!

Indeed, no one in the camp had ever seemed too suspicious of him. How awesome was that? Too awesome, that's what. Hmf, none of the other snobbish journalists back in the west wing would have been able to do this. In fact, they had never thought to dare to do this in the first place.

What a bunch of sniveling higher-borns who were used to having everything handed to them on a plate. Well, after this night, Isaac would show them. He would show the entire world just how much of a success he could be!

Yes, he could do this. He was already doing it, ha ha! He was going to be as popular as Ezreal, the Prodigal Explorer, back in the City of Progress!

Focusing back onto the task at hand, where was this camp's center? Mind, even though he was not used to this environment, the center of the encampment would most definitely stand out to Isaac. For not only would there be head elder Agatha but there would also be many a Winter Claw resident gathered around a huge bonfire which would be cooking their meats, their vegetables, the fine meal everyone would be taking part in tonight during the first actual retelling of Hail's story.

"_Hold on a moment, the Gem Knight approached you again to discuss the subject of buying our True Ice Sapphires? Well, for the hundredth time, I suppose you told him that they were not for sale, my chosen."_

The voice that had just spoken… it had sounded very, very familiar to Isaac just now who froze in his tracks. In turn, a pack of running Winter Claw kids roughly crashed into him! Then, between himself as well as the irritated north born brats, there was a bit of a commotion, some punching, some kicking, all finished by sharp exclamations in good Freljordian from both sides!

Next, as the rude, northern children scampered off while doing whatever they had been doing before having run into him from behind, Isaac kept very still while he tried to hear the familiar voice he'd heard moments beforehand.

Come on, come on… If those foolish children had cost him his moment of glory, by the gods, he would hunt them down and-

"_Sejuani, love, the Gem Knight meant nothing insulting towards you nor me nor any of the Winter Claws. Honestly, like we have done countless times, he as well as myself simply bartered a little like the friends we are before I told him once again that the sapphires of your ancestor were not for sale."_ A new yet recognizable voice said over the din happening around attentive Isaac, making the junior journalist's heart stop for a moment, _"You know very well that dear Taric is a collector of sorts and that his stylish armor has never matched ours since I showed up on the Fields of Justice. He simply wants to match our own splendor on the battlefield."_

"But that splendor you speak of is the splendor of our people, Hail. That splendor is the splendor of the Winter Claws. It is the beauty of Freljord. Even if he personally wished it of my ancestors, the sapphires of true ice would not fit in with the Gem Knight's attire for he is not of the north." The other familiar voice – Sejuani's it seemed – argued with obviously her chosen and important husband, Hail, nearby somewhere, "Thus, you should feel ashamed, my chosen. Not only because you actually bartered over the ownership of my peoples' sapphires but because, once more, you gave Taric some kind of false hope that he could possibly look good with such gems in his armor."

"I know, I know, love. Only a Freljordian would look his or her best while adorned in the sapphires of your ancient grandmother, Serylda." Isaac heard Hail coolly if not loudly say to his right side, making the undercover journalist stump his way past several weary look Freljordian oxen to hear better, "And I've always known that, Sejuani. Remember, before I met you in this era… I personally knew Serylda. And do you know whom she would be telling off at this moment?"

"Me, of course." Sejuani admitted, sounding a bit – as shocking as it was – humored to have been told off by her chosen man, "She would be telling me that I shouldn't be scolding you because you know better than anyone alive not to ever let her sapphires out of Freljordian possession. After all, if it had not been for you last year… my clan would not have even found the True Ice Sapphires that we needed to make the Frostguards join our side during the war for Freljord's future."

"That's exactly right. Without my help in locating the True Ice Sapphires of Serylda, no one would have been able to convince the trolls of Trundle that the Ice Witch who hid them could have been bested. Without those gems, without your permission, Ashe would have died." Hail goodheartedly laughed elsewhere, making intent Isaac look around as well as back track to a rather impressive look tent where there was much hustling along with bustling, "Yet, let us not speak of the gems of the Winter Claws. Instead, I want you to just stand there and let me admire you like I was doing during all of today's skirmish on the Fields of Justice. Truly, today, like you've always been, you were magnificent in battle. _You_ made the Winter Claws proud."

"As did you, Hail. _We_ made the Winter Claws proud." The Winter's Wrath actually snickered back with a hint of playful teasing in her voice, making Isaac feel bewildered while he listened outside, "No, we made all of Freljord proud."

"Indeed, that we surely did, Sejuani. You and I represented the power of the Winter Claws with all of our might today. In the meantime, Volibear did his part for the ursine, Trundle battled like a Troll King should, Nunu and his furry friend represented the yetis well, Anivia was very much the guardian of Freljord, Olaf brought his fury forth, Ashe shot true, Tryndamere raged on for forever, Braum protected others like a true protector… and we all very well took Runeterra by storm this day." Freljord's Living Legend proudly said within the tent, sounding very glad over today's described skirmish which had undoubtedly been impressive for everyone everywhere watching, "Yet, where it does my heart good to know that Freljord has been brought some honor today… I know that there is still much work to do."

At his last words, Hail's tone became somewhat disheartened. A silence followed where Isaac, trying to ignore everything else happening around him, did his best not to lose track of what was going on or what was being discussed.

Finally, to Isaac's delight, Freljord's Living Legend spoke again. Instead of sounding proud though, he spoke with serious firmness to his wife, "No matter how many victories I gain for our people of the north, Sejuani… I just cannot help but feel at a loss. Even now, with all that we accomplished during this day, I know that Avarosa as well as Serylda want me to try harder, fight better, think faster."

"Is that really all you have to say about what we accomplished today, Hail? Even though we fought good and hard during today's skirmish before the eyes of the world? Even though we gave everything up to this point our absolute best?" Sejuani questioned from within the tent, actually sounding tender rather than bitter, "My chosen, you cannot push yourself like this so much. Not like you did for the last four years while bringing all of the north together. Yes, it will take many more years for Freljord to become what it was when you knew my ancestor, Serylda. Yet, on this day, Serylda is proud of us. Everyone is proud of us."

"I am aware that it will take many years for Freljord to become what it was when I knew your ancestor, Sejuani. During the days of Lissandra, of Avarosa, of Serylda, the north was… the inspiration of the world." Hail wisely spoke, sounding like he was quite deep in thought, "Before the blasted Watchers came, before the cursed black ice, Freljord was a realm of unity, of strength, of culture. Now, with the Watchers gone and with myself awake, perhaps the north can become as glorious as I once knew it."

"Yet, there is something troubling you, isn't there? You're worrying over the same things again, aren't you?" The Winter's Wrath wondered gently, her voice heavy with care over her husband's revealed stress, "It's the Ice Witch that haunts you, right? She troubles your thoughts, no?"

"You tell me, love." Hail wearily sighed back, probably having his face in hands or so Isaac imagined while eavesdropping, "I know that we got the best of her years ago but… my ancestors thought the same centuries back when they had defeated her as well as her superiors at the Iceborn Bridge of the Howling Abyss. That witch is a spider, a patient one at that. And where the Watchers fell to my mace when I liberated the north four years back… I know deep down that Lissandra didn't."

"Yes. Yes, she's out there somewhere, my chosen." Sejuani assured, sounding very encouraging now, "But there is something you must always remember. It is always the same something you've been telling me since you vowed to make my people the warriors they once were…"

"And what is it that I must remember, love?"

"You must remember that while Lissandra is hiding out there, you are here bringing the north together day after day, night after night. She will not be able to spin her webs like she did before for the last hundreds of years. No matter what she does now, you will be there to stop her. And Serylda as well as Avarosa will be there with you when you do."

"As will you, Sejuani." Freljord's Living Legend stated, his voice determined now rather than questionable, "Yes, Braum, Ashe, Tryndamere, Anivia, Volibear, all of the north will be there at my side when I put a stop to Lissandra's plots again, I know that. But… You and your Winter Claws will be the ones at my side during it all. Correct?"

"Correct, my chosen. Just as I was there when you stopped her the first time and freed the Frostguards four years ago, I will be at your side once more when you defeat the puppet witch of the Watchers again and again in the future." The Winter's Wrath confirmed, sounding happier along with braver all of a sudden, "Just as I will be at your side tonight during the retelling of your legendary story of bringing the north together under your banner. So, as you said before me moments ago, let us not talk about this ill subject anymore. My dearest ancestor, Serylda, would not want you to look so glum during the reciting of your heroic tale."

"No… I suppose Serylda wouldn't want me to feel so worried about nothing, would she?" Hail proudly replied, laughing at the same time while getting up or so Isaac could guess while listening in, "Especially not during this night! No, not when Agatha revisits the victories you and I accomplished during the last few years to retake Freljord from the Ice Witch. The same Ice Witch who hasn't shown her face in Runeterra since I smashed her up good for the sake of all of the Frostguards!"

From what Isaac could hear next with the tent before him, there was a sudden sound of movement, some laughter, a bit of messing around between the King as well as Queen of the Winter Claws, finalized by some kisses and hugs. Sejuani enjoying herself? What an odd thing to imagine let alone hear, no?

"Wait, talking about me having smashed the Ice Witch apart with my mace, do you think she's putting herself back together these days?" Hail jokingly wondered aloud abruptly, earning a laugh from his wife in turn, "Hey, yeah. Maybe that's what she's been doing since she vanished, eh? Ha ha, what a thought! She's no spider hiding in a web. She's just a pile of dust like her masters."

"If you say so, my chosen." Sejuani replied, chuckling the whole time her husband seemed to be carrying her around in his arms, "If you say so. One way or the other, only the future will tell us the answers we seek."

So, fortunately, the Winter's Wrath and Freljord's Living Legend were together at the moment. Indeed, the king as well as queen of the Winter Claws were in this impressive looking tent discussing their personal history before disbelieving Isaac's ears. Not only that but had they at some point said there was in fact going to be a retelling of Hail's story during tonight? Yes, they had very well said so numerous times.

By the gods, this was too good to be true! Already, the Isaac was hitting the jackpot! Now, while the married rulers of the Winter Claws did whatever they were doing in private in their tent, all the undercover junior journalist needed to do was get out his writing materials and – Whoa!

A child, a little Winter Claw girl of maybe ten years, had taken to staring curiously at Isaac while he was distracted by the realization that he had found Sejuani and Hail together in their personal tent or whatever. Judging by the way she was looking at him too, the kid might have been suspicious of him. Yet, as Isaac immediately resumed looking feeble, older than old along with a bit touched in the head while suffering from some kind of snowy vision, the girl in question simply grinned, bowed a respectful bow to her supposed elder, then skipped along to wherever.

Phew. That had been close. Now, where had Isaac been before having been interrupted? Oh, yes, he needed to get back to listening in on Hail and Sejuani who didn't sound as bitter, straightforward nor blunt towards each other as most people guessed. No, despite their histories of being rough, tough champions, Freljord's Living Legend as well as the Winter's Wrath truly sounded like they did actually adore one another. Of course, inside of the battle ring, they gave off the impression of being fearless fighters. Yet, outside of the battle ring, in their private tent here… they sounded just like any other loyal husband and wife discussing the unknown future.

And speaking of the married leaders of the Winter Claws, just centimeters to surprised Isaac's right, they'd just exited their tent as well as were being greeted with much warm praise, welcomes along with hoots from the nearby peoples!

For more than excited Isaac who was blending in well with the ranks of happy Winter Claws, this moment he'd been caught in was an incredible experience. Despite how rare it was seen within the League of Legends, the secret junior journalist was actually witnessing Sejuani openly showing affection to Hail by allowing him to hug her closer to him during all of the attention. Not only that but it seemed that the married couple – who were evidently going to lead the folk gathering around them to the center of the encampment where Agatha awaited – were not going to be wearing their traditional armor tonight.

No, surprisingly yet intriguingly, the Winter's Wrath and Freljord's Living Legend were in fact dressed in regular looking garments of cotton, wool and furs like everyone else in the growing crowd.

Yes, tonight, happily, dressed like their fellow Winter Claws, Sejuani and Hail would hear what elder Agatha had to say at the bonfire. On this night, as it had been made a law by every Freljordian since the unification of Freljord four years ago, there would be no strong nor weak Winter Claw. With their participating rulers, there would only be equal, happy Winter Claws during the recap of Freljord's Living Legend's tale.

Well, heh heh, there would of course be them plus a certain, undercover junior journalist. Duh. Oh but shush. Isaac couldn't let anyone else find out about that. Not yet, anyway. Shush, shush.

* * *

Agatha Icebane, the head elder of holy elders of the Winter Claws. Wrinkled, donned in many layers of fur robes, with her long hair and eyes as gray as the smoke of the camp center's bonfire she sat before, Isaac knew that elder Agatha had maybe looked better fourteen years ago when she had first told a younger, sixteen year old Sejuani that she would become the inspiration of the Winter Claws; that she would become the Winter's Wrath.

Tonight, though, the holy head elder in question looked very tired, very distant, very unaware of her growingly crowded surroundings.

Either way, whether or not she was joining in the moment with the rest of the Winter Claws gathering around the encampment's large bonfire, Isaac had taken to keeping in the shadows out of sight of the sagely woman. Seeing as she had been the ancient leader of all of the rest of the holy people of her now gathered clan for the last sixty years of her life, Agatha would undoubtedly see right through the undercover junior journalist's disguise. Yet, hiding from her sight wasn't such a hard thing for Isaac to accomplish. Not when all attention was focused onto seated Sejuani and Hail nearby.

Speaking of the Winter's Wrath and Freljord's Living Legend, despite the fact of Sejuani having always been bitter, the two rulers of the Winter Claws really were quite the item together. They both appeared to be the same age of thirty. And yes, holding each other's hands along with exchanging proud glances every so often, they looked perfect while sitting together amidst their gossiping fellows.

As Garen, the Might of Demacia, had come to quickly find out during the friendly skirmish between Demacia and Freljord back last March, Hail was quite a tall if not muscular individual. Indeed, at the moment, even though sitting down, Sejuani's buff husband was a good half foot taller than her. And that was saying something because unlike her rather small yet nimble Frost Archer counterpart, it was common knowledge that the Winter's Wrath was a little over six feet tall.

Moving on, talking about Sejuani, she wasn't fancily dressed in a delicate dress like an Avarosan would be for the occasion but instead was garbed in a finer than fine wool tunic, pants along with doeskin boots plus gloves. Very much so, even though dressed a bit casually, she looked quite beautiful in her own right. Honestly, with her short hair of white flowing freely, with her blue eyes as bright as true ice, with a smile always on her face, she had a beauty that demanded attention, respect as well as awe. She had the beauty of her ice born ancestor, Serylda.

Then there was Hail, whose looks – in Vi's, the Piltovian Enforcer's, opinion – shamed Jayce's, the Defender of Tomorrow's, own.

Freljord's Living Legend, dressed almost the same as his wife but with thicker gloves along with boots made of Freljordian dire wolf leather, was known everywhere for his own lightning blue eyes, his coal black hair cut short as well as his northern, friendly smile. Yet, mind, where it was one thing to hear about Hail's qualities over the news or from other champions' perspectives… it was completely different to see it firsthand like Isaac was doing.

Truly, despite him being there as an intruder, Isaac was deeply honored to be part of this moment around the Winter Claw camp center's bonfire. He had been in recent awe when he'd observed the many Winter Claws follow their close king and queen without hesitation to this massive fire where everyone had taken a seat. This event thus far had shown the junior journalist just how much respect Hail and Sejuani truly held amid their folk which was plenty more than rumored. Now, forming a huge circle around the crackling fire, dozens of Winter Claws patiently awaited silent elder Agatha – who was seated at the head of the gathered tribal folk – to begin retelling the awesome story of Freljord's Living Legend.

Of course, for the last ten minutes since everyone had taken a seat with Sejuani and Hail, Agatha hadn't broken out of the trance like state she was currently in. With her old face giving no hints, with her faded eyes never moving, it almost seemed like she was going to be lost forever in the dancing flames of the bonfire everyone had taken seats around.

Yet, as a certain spark crackled up from the embers and onto her cheek, the weary looking head elder of Winter Claw's holy elders came back into reality. With a twinkle in her eyes, with a smile on her aged expression, she looked around at everyone intently observing her from every direction.

"Oh my. Well, look at this." Agatha announced aloud, looking around in mock surprise at the Winter Claws that had gathered around her, "Only a moment ago, I was all alone looking into the stories this fire had to share with me. Now, here I am surrounded by my family, my friends, my fellow good people of Freljord."

In turn to her praises, there was some murmuring amongst the humored children sitting close to Agatha. At this, the head elder of Winter Claw elders smiled at the said children before saying, "And what, my friends, do you wish of me? What is it you want from this old wolf of the north, hm? You have all gathered here with me tonight for a reason. What, pray, is that reason?"

"We want to hear what stories the fire told to you, elder. We want to hear the story of the defeat of the Ice Witch." A young girl of perhaps seventeen years of age with fiery red hair spoke up, looking purposefully from Agatha to Hail, "We want to hear the story of he who was frozen in ice but didn't die. We want to hear about he who came back stronger than ever, of he journeyed to the top of Mount Thunder Top, of he who ventured into the darkness of the – the – the Howling Abyss to reclaim the True Ice Sapphires."

"Alright, Samandra Firemane, alright." Agatha chuckled, getting the excited girl with crimson hair – Samandra Firemane, it sounded like – to sit back down with her friends, "I'd be more than willing to-"

"Yeah!" A boy of fourteen exclaimed this time, actually looking very excited even though he'd cut off the head elder of holy elders, "We want to hear about he who earned the respect of the ursine! We want to hear about he who gained the loyalty of the trolls!"

"We want to hear about he who smashed the Ice Witch into little bitty pieces!" Another girl of perhaps eight yelled jumping up and down. In turn, her energy made all of the children begin shouting out tales that they wanted to hear. Tales Isaac knew or guessed were all related to humble Hail whom simply smiled while putting an arm around proud Sejuani and drawing her closer to him.

"So many requests… I do not know if I will be able to answer them all on this night, my little wolves of Freljord." Agatha chuckled softly, breaking out into an amused grin as the riled up children – the little wolves of Freljord – were calmed down by their parents, "Tonight, myself and the fire were expecting only one request. I thought I was to tell the story of Freljord's victory over the Ice Witch."

"You are supposed to tell that story, elder." Another ten year old Winter Claw girl in her parent's lap admitted, "But doesn't that story include he who was frozen in ice, he smashed the Ice Witch, he who earned the respect the ursine?"

"Indeed, it does include him. Him and so much more." Agatha said, nodding her head towards Hail who slowly nodded back while seeming to tighten his embrace upon content Sejuani beside him, "Alas, that is what you have all come to me for tonight, correct? You all wish to hear of the tale of the fall of the Ice Witch?"

When she received the nodding of heads from everyone in answer to her inquiry, the head elder of Winter Claw elders announced boldly, "Then be glad, my fellow wolves of Freljord. For the Ice Witch's downfall could not have come without he who was frozen in ice. In fact, today, without him, Freljord would not be united. Now, let us quiet ourselves. Let's enjoy our food a moment… and then listen to what I have to say about he who was frozen in ice."

So, this actually happening? Yes, this was indeed it… This was actually happening! Agatha was starting to tell the story that Isaac, that all of Runeterra, had wanted to hear for the last year!

With his pen and paper ready under his disguise and his heart pounding in his chest, Isaac was literally going to be the first summoner journalist to hear as well as record the story of Freljord's Living Legend! Thank the gods, all of his intense, past work in getting ready for this moment had paid off!

Yet, as elder Agatha began to tell the story of Freljord's Living Legend, as she began to review of how Freljord came to be united under one strong banner, there was one thing Isaac couldn't prepare himself for… and that was the sheer depth along with sincerity of Hail's story. For Freljord's Living Legend hadn't become such an icon in the past with a happy ending after every conflict. No, during his journey, as there had been happiness, victories and friendships gained, Hail had experienced despair, losses as well as madness.

This wasn't some Demacian fairy tale, Isaac was about to hear from the head elder of the Winter Claw's holy elders. This was a tale of the bitter north. This was an ice born tale. This was Hail's, Freljord's Living Legend's, tale.


	2. The Frigid Starting Point

**C****hapter One: "The Frigid Starting Point"**

"_During all of my travels, I have come to find that destiny is amongst the most mysterious of things in this world. Whether or not someone wants it to, the powers of fate can often strike anyone, anywhere, at any given time without warning. This especially holds true in the icy, merciless regions of the almighty Freljord… Where the archers fire with lethal precision, the warriors endure the worse battles and the heroes bring down entire mountains with one hardy punch."_ **– Ezreal, the Prodigal Explorer**

* * *

_**Three years before the retelling of Freljord's Living Legend's story on the grounds of the Institute of War, during the day of March 16**__**th**__** of 21CLE…**_

For the last two weeks, it had always been the same. The vision, the scene of hope lasting in the face of oncoming disaster, it never failed to repeat the same way every time.

Indeed, the guiding vision sent from Serylda the Powerful, one of the three ancient sisters of the north as well as the mightiest ancestor of the Winter Claws… Before the intent eyes of the Winter Claws' head elder and Sejuani's closest companion in life, aged Agatha Icebane, the prophetic scene always progressed in the same depressing yet heroic kind of way.

It always began with a terrible snowstorm raging across the awesomeness that was the historical landscape of all of Freljord. A snowstorm that would eventually cover everything in deeper than deep snow along with be consumed by ice blacker than the darkest night sky. Sadly if not distressingly, it always seemed nothing could be done to stop the oncoming storm of snow nor the consuming ice of black which stretched over all that could be seen.

Yet, where it appeared like all hope was lost… something most curious never failed to transpire at the last second.

For from the deep, nearby snow banks, a frantically waving hand would appear first. Then that hand would desperately help pull its panting, naked owner – a healthy, physically fit young man in his mid to late twenties – out of the piles of snowfall. And for several moments later, looking aimlessly around him, that naked young man who freed himself from the snowy depths always stood in place where he was.

With the flurry of snowy winds raging into his bare back, with his night black hair sweeping with whatever direction the wind was blowing, with his lightning blue eyes looking very frightened, the young man in question would rub his chest to keep as warm as possible while appearing to be like a lamb in distress that had wandered away from his herd. For what seemed like forever, out in the middle of the harsh weather with no sort of clothing upon his body, he would simply glance around in confusion, shiver whenever the winds blew as well as moan sadly to himself.

During the vision of endless snowfall sent by Serylda, this young man in question whom suffered from the bitter cold… Agatha never failed in seeing that he acted rather pathetic. He whimpered whenever the winds blew. He shivered when the snow whipped around his body. He cringed away from the black ice as it grew in size around him.

In all honesty, like Freljord around him, he was dying. Yet, within a heartbeat, within the blink of an eye, for reasons that couldn't be deciphered yet, the sad scene would dramatically change. The raging storms would cease. The spreading black ice would slow in its progression.

In turn, onto the naked young man shivering in the snowy landscape, brilliant sunlight would break through the heavy collections of storm clouds gathered overhead. Then, no longer barraged by snow or threatened by black ice, encouraged by the appearance of the warm sun, the pathetic excuse of a young man would tentatively look up towards the clearing northern horizon and… he would see it.

In the sky, he would see a strange, eerie symbol of some kind staring back at him from where the sun shined bright; a symbol that depicted an all-seeing eye seated upon a throne. And during that moment where sunlight would be bathing Freljord in golden illumination, that's when the hordes of questions would hit elder Agatha like a ursine charging an enemy.

To the north, the emblem of the eye sitting upon a throne, what in Runeterra did that mean? Why did it never fail in making the freezing, cowering young man suddenly stop cringing in the cold? Why did it make him stand taller, look prouder, make his unsure, lightning blue eyes adopt a purposeful, brave kind of glint? Why did it make him abruptly begin journeying earnestly towards the harshest reaches of the north, ignoring the coming snowstorms and black ice hindering his way?

And most especially, as the formerly afraid young man got closer to where he'd saw the emblem of the eye sitting upon the throne, as the whirling snow around him actually began to cover his nude form in the most fabulous true ice armor and he broke protruding shards of black ice off of the ground to make himself an epic shield as well as mace, why dearest Serylda… did the vision end?

Indeed, why would no more of the scene be shown to curious Agatha? Why oh why oh why?

While she sat in her comfortable tent in the middle of the massive, growing Winter Claw encampment entitled "Vallan" located near the "Glacial Mountains" in the northernmost region of Freljord, why was the head elder of Winter Claw holy elders simply left with no answers to her questions? Instead, with each time Serylda showed her the described vision of the young man heading north, why was she left with only more riddles to try to think through during the course of the day?

By mighty Serylda, by the powers of ice as well as snow, the war for the north was fast approaching! There was no time for these puzzles, these questions, these visions that led to nowhere! Agatha, needed answers! ANSWERS!

Truly, ever since she had been made head holy elder sixty years ago, ever since the day that she'd witnessed the vision of Sejuani becoming the Winter's Wrath fourteen years ago, ever since the day the Frostguard had allied themselves with the Avarosa eight years ago, Agatha had always had the necessary solutions to the problems of her hardy people. In the recent past, for instance, she had foreseen the fine alliance between the Winter Claws and the ursine warriors of the thunderous prophet, Volibear. She had predicted that Olaf, the Berserker, would pledge his as well as his clan's loyalty to the Winter Claws too.

Yet, now, today being the day the princess of the Winter Claws would return from her last week of meditating up at Glacial Reach – the holiest of places of almighty Serylda – what did Agatha have going through her head? Nothing.

Indeed, upon the Winter's Wrath's return, when Sejuani would come to her to seek advice for what to do during the troubling future like always, the head elder of Winter Claw holy elders would have no answers this time. No, she would only have theories for the Winter Claw people during the approaching days of bitter battle. During this coming war for Freljord, during this fateful battle that would pit the Winter Claw warriors against the archers of Avarosa and the scholars of the Frostguard… it seemed that the gods would only watch the wolves of the north and not help them.

Yet, of all the times to do so, how very curious it was now that the gods had decided not to take part in the war for the north. To be more honest, how very, hmf, inconvenient it was of them to take off when their people needed them more than anything.

"Absurd. During my eighty-eight years alive, this is most absurd." Agatha grumbled to herself, moving her old bones for the first time all day by using her nearby, gnarled stick of a cane to move a piece of good firewood onto the hungry embers of her prophetic fire, "What good is a seer to her people if she cannot see what the future holds? None! That's right, thanks to you, Serylda, I will be of no use to my good people during this war for the north."

At this, at saying she would be of no real use to her warrior like people in the future, the head elder of Winter Claw elders rolled her eyes while she said next, "Why, almighty Serylda the Powerful? Why do you abandon us during what will unquestionably be our most glorious hour? Why do you blind me as well as your people to the days that are to come?"

Naturally, speaking only to the toasty air around her, Agatha received no visible answer from the goddess/sister she had patiently addressed. Instead, with a small pop of its warming flames, the fire snapped some heat into the head elder's face. In turn to this, chuckling to herself at having been singed by several sparks when she had asked her question of Serylda, Agatha leaned back into her pile of animal furs with a weary sigh.

"Alas, who am I to ask you, almighty Serylda – defender of our people – why you act the way you do. Perhaps you are trying to tell me as well as my fellows that we have become too reliant on you, eh? Maybe you're trying to show us that we are strong enough without you and that the Avarosa will fall, even though they rely on their own prophets?" The old, head elder of Winter Claw elders wondered aloud, settling into the warmth of her furs meanwhile, "Yes, yes, that could be your message, no? That sounds reasonable."

There was a long pause of silence where the fired crackled with energy, where the outside world moaned with icy winds, where Agatha listened to her own heart beating in her chest while her mind ran with so many inquiries. Then, shaking her head, she couldn't help but continue asking her goddess about what the mysterious future possibly held.

"Yet, forgive me for questioning you but… why do you show me a young man traveling north rather than Sejuani herself then? Not only that but why does he go north into the unknown rather south towards battle?" The Winter Claw head elder wondered, half apologetically yet half seriously looking up towards the heavens, "See, that is where I am most confused about your intent, almighty Serylda. Who is this young man you have shown me? What does his appearance mean?"

Indeed, the vision of the young man was a most curious thing. Ever since the 3rd of March when Sejuani had departed to the holy grounds of Glacial Reach to meditate for the oncoming days of war, during these past two weeks filled with mighty snowstorms only Freljord could produce, head elder Agatha Icebane had – like her foremothers before her – taken to staring into her secure hut's warm bonfire.

There in the dancing flames, there where the orange melded with the red and the red retreated to the yellow and the yellow befriended the orange, the head elder of Winter Claw elders had sought answers to many things. Things that her fellow people could benefit from. Things that could aid the warriors of her folk during the inevitable war for the north… which had officially begun on March 3rd.

Since the day of March 2nd about fourteen days ago, the whole world of Runeterra had undoubtedly come to know that a mass of Winter Claw champions had massacred an Avarosan scouting party. In turn, although the Institute of War near the Great Barrier Mountains to the south had advised against it, Queen Ashe and King Tryndamere – fed up with tolerating badgering from Princess Sejuani's folk – declared that the slain Avarosa would be avenged.

Thus, with the bristling allies of both sides having gathered together since the said declaration, the war for the north was officially underway today.

To the south, in the capitol city of Avarosa, judging from what scouts had recently described to Sejuani, elder Agatha knew very well that countless legions of Avarosan archers as well as Frostguard defenders were gathering together. Not only that, there were rumors that the southern alliance of Demacia/Piltover was willing to lend what aid it could to the Frost Archer where needed.

Either way, soon enough, with their holy prophets encouraging them, Ashe and her allied leaders would march their troops northward towards the Glacial Mountains. That or, if the southern Freljordians were smart little mice, they would stay inside their own walls where it was safest. Because the forces of the Winter Claws here were not to be underestimated these days.

No, having been under the leadership of the Winter's Wrath for fourteen years, they – the wolves of Freljord – were very well manned, armed as well as spirited today. They were and had always been more than ready to fight in the name of Serylda during this prophesized war.

Yet, despite the fact that she knew the Winter Wrath's own army would be made up of the best warriors Freljord had ever seen in centuries, despite the fact that Volibear's ursine and Olaf's berserkers would be backing Sejuani's claim to the throne of the north, Agatha just couldn't… say for sure that Serylda was blessing the Winter Claws nowadays.

Truly, as of late, as if scolding the Winter Claws truth be told, Serylda's visions had been confusing, twisted, warped with scenes of endless snowfall along with the blackest ice covering everything.

And never was it Sejuani whom was shown in Serylda the Powerful's sent visions. No, it was always the stranger of a young man who always marched not southwards towards the Avarosa but northwards through the worst weather towards the symbolic eye seated upon the throne.

Why? Why did Serylda insist on showing Agatha this nameless young man all of a sudden? What about Sejuani? What about the Winter Claws? What about the war for the north? Confound it! Why were there suddenly so many questions these days… without any real answers?

Many a time in the past had Agatha witnessed in her bonfire prophetic scenes of Sejuani leading the Winter Claws to victory over any opponent, of her claiming victories in the League of Legends. Ever since the declaration of the beginning of the war for the north, however, the head elder of Winter Claw elders couldn't see straight anymore. All the visions she had seen for the last two weeks had consisted of endless snowstorms, black ice consuming everything and the pathetic young man… turning from an afraid child into an imposing hero of the Freljord while purposefully heading north rather than south.

"What are you trying to tell me, almighty Serylda?" Agatha grunted to herself, moving once more from her collection of furs to stoke the fire better, "For the longest time, you have shown me and my people the way of becoming stronger. When I was twenty-eight, you made me your holy servant. When I was seventy-four, you helped me show Sejuani the way of becoming the leader she is now. Yet, now that I am eighty-eight and the war for the north is inbound… You send me a vision of someone other than Sejuani? You send me a sign to go north rather than south?"

The comfortable fire crackled, giving the inquiring, head elder of Winter Claw elders no answers.

Meanwhile, as the rest of the world went on with the day, the cold winds outside the tent howled, making Freljord that much bitterer. The gathered armies of the Winter's Wrath's camp of Vallan readied themselves for when their princess would be coming back today.

Elder Agatha sighed, feeling like her mind was about to explode from frustration, uncertainty, curiosity. For forever, since eight years ago when the Avarosa and Frostguard had united, it'd been made clear that Sejuani would remain the ferocious, independent leader of the Winter Claws as well as gain the allies that had come under her banner. And with Volibear as well as Olaf following her today as foretold, she would lead a might army against the one following Ashe in the south.

Yet, even though the Winter Claws were at their strongest, even though Sejuani was more than likely prepared to face her destiny, Agatha just couldn't be sure of anything anymore. Not when she'd been left with no prophetic answers for the last two weeks. Not when Serylda was still sending her signs, visions, hints now of a nameless young man… who did not march south towards war but north into endless blizzards as well as valleys of black ice for reasons unknown.

Considering the scene of the nameless young man going north rather south, was Serylda signaling to Agatha that this really wasn't the time for the war of the north to begin? Could this conflict not wait? During the days to come, was Sejuani to lead her armies south against Ashe's own? Or was she to follow the example of the mysterious young man in the vision and investigate what the north held?

"The time for the ruler of Freljord to be decided has come, Serylda. For the longest time, I have prayed to you to grant Sejuani the throne so that she may make the north what it should have always been; strong, proud, united." The head elder of Winter Claw elders grunted, thinking long and hard to herself over things that weren't under her complete control like the days that were to come, "Thus, please, stop confusing me and grant me some answers. Like you have always done, show me the way. Show Sejuani the way. Show the Winter Claws the way. I beg of you."

In the end, since fourteen years ago, Agatha had always been and still was the most reliable advisor to the Winter's Wrath. Whether she liked what she heard or didn't like it, Sejuani had never spat upon the words of the head holy elder of Winter Claw elders. Thus, when the princess of the Winter Claws returned on this day from her meditating in Glacial Reach, Agatha would be honest. For honesty, in the least, had never led the Winter Claws, the wolves of Freljord, astray. No, it had always made them stronger.

Wait a moment… Perhaps during her last week being up in blessed Glacial Reach, Sejuani had gleaned more sense from Serylda's visions than Agatha herself had? Well, hm, yes, that would make sense. As a matter of fact, hopefully that was actually the case. For if it was then both the Winter's Wrath as well the head elder of Winter Claw elders would be able to figure out the unknown future together during the rest of this day. Brilliant, brilliant, brilliant!

Maybe this was the lesson almighty Serylda had been attempting to clarify for the last two weeks then; Sejuani needed Agatha and Agatha needed Sejuani. Not only that but the Winter Claws needed them both. Unquestionably, everyone would need everyone during the approaching future.

"Ha ha. Curse you yet bless you, dearest Serylda. You work in the most mysterious ways." Agatha chuckled, trying not to think too much about the past week of visions and more on what she would be talking with Sejuani about in due time, "Funny how I haven't caught onto that yet, eh? Regardless, I place my renewed faith in you. I believe that you are still watching over my people and by today's end… you will give them the appropriate direction they need to secure the throne of the north-"

"Elder Agatha!" Someone who sounded quite young abruptly shouted from outside, sounding like a girl, "Elder Agatha Icebane! Are you in here? Is she inside? Quickly, she must come outside! She must!"

"Patience, little Astrid. Patience." Agatha laughed to herself from her place by the fire, managing to get onto her feet while the guards at the entrance of her tent kept the excited caller – Astrid, it seemed – from barging inside, "Here I come. Slowly yet surely. And as for why such a little wolf like yourself has come to disturb my peace and quiet… I can think of only one reason."

At this, purposefully smiling a grateful smile as well as bowing her head towards her bonfire, the head elder of Winter Claw elders said with thanks, "Yes, it would seem our dear princess has returned. Welcome back home, Sejuani. Thank you, Serylda, the Powerful and Wise, for bringing her back to us in one piece."


	3. Samandra Firemane

**C****hapter Two: "Samandra Firemane, the Loyal"**

"_Never should you underestimate the power, capability nor bravery of any child in this world. For they are the future. At times, they can be stronger than anything ever imagined. That much I learned very quickly during my first official skirmish on the Fields of Justice against the Dark Child, Annie."_ **– Lux, the Lady of Luminosity**

* * *

_**Several Hours Earlier, Before Sejuani's Return…**_

Since she'd been born twelve years ago in the iciest parts of northern Freljord during one the worst known snowstorms, it was common knowledge today that hardy Samandra Firemane was meant to do great things during her lifetime.

Amongst the other children whom had survived the harshness of the north thus far, to her both her parents' relief along with distress at moments, Samandra had always been special in the eyes of everybody. Never had she failed at doing something better than the supposedly brave boys in the Winter Claw clans. Never had she missed being in the center of the spotlight of some important event. Never had she cowardly run from danger, not even when she was in serious trouble after some fooling around at times and had had to embarrassingly confess her sins before the angry yet amused eyes of both of her role models in life; Sejuani as well as Agatha.

Yet, despite her rather usual tendencies of landing herself in trouble with the Winter's Wrath as well as the Head Elder of Winter Claw Elders, Samandra had been and still was unquestionably a very good inspiration for her people if not fellow children. Perhaps that was because of her strong body as well as determined set of mind like her father? Maybe it was due to her graceful appearance along with fiery red hair like her mother? How about how adorable she always acted or tried to act whenever in a tight situation that involved her having to learn a lesson?

Either way, who could really tell anymore these days, eh?

Regardless, seeing as she was a secret favorite child of Sejuani and was also something of a very much appreciated apprentice to Agatha, what was certain about little Samandra Firemane was that she would one day make a very good role model for all of Freljord in the future. How she would be such a model would be quite the mystery until found out, though. Still, some Winter Claws guessed she would make a finer than fine, bold mother/wife for one lucky or maybe unlucky man.

Others stated she would become the next Winter's Wrath or close to it.

The rest speculated she would eventually get around to looking into the prophetic fires like the rest of Agatha's holy elders and aid in the efforts of seeing sister Serylda's plans for the northern realms.

One way or the other, at the moment, Samandra was no mother nor warrior nor holy elder of the Winter Claws. Although she walked by their tents every day now within the growing camp of Vallan, she was no ally of the rallying ursine of Volibear nor was she on talking terms with the berserkers who followed Olaf around.

No, although indeed a bit mature for her age, although looked upon with great expectations by everyone, Samandra was Samandra; a youth who did not yet know the laws, responsibilities nor true uncertainties of the world around her. Instead, followed by her childhood friends, she was the child presently climbing away from the camp of Vallan up the rough, rocky, western faces of the nearby Glacial Mountains.

With the icy, biting winds of Freljord smacking straight into her face, with her crimson hair whipping around her freckled, smiling face, climbing Samandra had been leading a group of five other children – her best friends – around the bustling Winter Claw camps below almost all morning. Now, with the sun nearly in the middle of the clear, baby blue sky, seeing as most of her people had awoken and didn't like her nor her pals getting in their way, the red headed girl was determined now to find someplace new for her companions to play. A place that wouldn't be hindered by depressing adults.

During the course of the latest hour, Samandra had come up with the presently progressing, brilliant yet uncertain plan of venturing outside of the camp limits and out into the open plains at the base of the Glacial Mountains. Mind, it was a plain fact that children – even though Winter Claw – were not to go anywhere outside the camp of Vallan without supervision from a grown up.

Yet, with the way everyone had been so busy during the last two weeks, considering the fact that none of the adults plainly took well to being disturbed by kids, why did Samandra or her companions have to have someone grouchy watching over them when out in the open? Why did they or any of the other kids in Vallan have to fear out here in the wilderness?

The friends in question who resolutely followed Samandra, she knew very well that they were old enough to take care of themselves. Having noticed the constant praise she received from her fellow Winter Claw people, Samandra too felt practically like an adult. Plus, together, up to this very day where they scaled up the mountain's face to din somewhere to play, Samandra as well as her trailing childhood buddies had survived the worse snowstorms, starvation along with worse.

Today, herself and her pals would brave the supposedly scary, frigid wilderness… and come back into the camps late afternoon without a scratch on them. That and they wouldn't be noticed by anyone, hah!

"Sam? Samandra?" A girl of Samandra's age with ebony black hair tied back into a sloppy ponytail and sapphire eyes called from further down the snowy hill's face, helping a younger boy with the same ebony colored hair get back onto his feet and out of the snow, "My little brother Antony is having trouble keeping up with us. Can't we slow down a little bit? We have plenty of sunlight left, you know."

"Oh, c'mon, Astrid!" Samandra laughed back over her shoulder, looking back with amusement to watch the ebony haired girl or Astrid aid her said little brother in scaling the hill they all were stomping upwards through, "You think you're going to be a Winter Claw with that kind of attitude? Leave your burden of a little brother behind like I suggested earlier. He's only slowing us down. Sooner or later, the direwolves will catch up to us. When that happens, it'll make him move faster for sure. And if it doesn't make him speed up, him being caught will give the rest of us more time to escape."

All of the children laughed at the mention of direwolves coming for Astrid's struggling, eight year old brother whom was named Antony. Actually, next moment, he seemed to start moving faster at the mention of such possible dangers as wolves tracking him down. Well, ahem, he tried to go faster… before, even though being held by his older sister, he fell face first into the snow and renewed the reason for everyone to laugh at him.

Naturally, as it'd been to their parents before them, the idea of leaving a Winter Claw child such as stumbling Antony for the wolves was simply an age old, sick joke to the current group of childhood friends. It was known by all of the kids currently climbing up the mountain that leading Samandra wouldn't leave anyone behind for any reason; especially for dead. Not when she ever so much wanted to be like Sejuani one day, anyway.

And as if seeing the opportunity was a chance for her to act heroic before everyone else's eyes, as if thinking she could be like the heroic Winter's Wrath at the moment, Samandra actually jogged back downhill to Astrid, helped little Antony back onto his feet, then gave him something of a piggyback ride while resuming the lead ahead of her friends.

"You're too slow, Antony. No matter how hard you try, the wolves are still catching up to us." Samandra purposefully, excitedly along with shrilly exclaimed while running past her observing companions uphill through the snow, "Come on, everyone! Quick, we have to get to safety or we're going to be wolf meat. I think I saw them coming up the hill for us. Let's go, let's go!"

In turn, as she predicted they would do due to her antics, riled up by her imagined wolves tracking them all down, the rest of the Winter Claw kids rapidly ran to catch up with their inspiring, red haired leader. Finally, somewhat tired out from having carried laughing Antony upon her back for the last ten minutes, Samandra slowed her running into a walk which ended when she reached the crest of the hill herself and her friends had been climbing for the last hour.

In turn to having finished climbing, letting loose a sigh of relief, clutching her heart as if badly wounded, Samandra collapsed into the snowy hilltop where Antony rolled off of her onto the ground.

"Oh no, the dire wolves were a trap made by the Frostguards! They've run us into enemy territory!" Samandra cried out while face down in the snow banks, making her companions hesitate in following her any further, "Look out, I've been shot! The Avarosans are coming. Get behind some cover. Find some rocks. Save… your… selves."

"No, get up." Antony whined in actual fear, looking around at the open surroundings as if really expecting the imagined, infamous Frostguard knights or Avarosan archers to actually show themselves from the rocks close by, "Get up, Sammy. You can't be hurt. The Avaroserns and – and – and Frostgaurns aren't going to get you. We'll get away."

As Antony was slurring his words with baby talk, as he was very much being afraid of what downed yet laughing Samandra was saying with imaginary enemies having them all surrounded, the rest of the rallied gang got around to dragging their supposedly injured leader to some rocks where there was proper cover from the theoretically coming projectiles of the cowardly Avarosa bow wielders.

Once behind the said rocks and out of the way of imagined volleys of arrows, a boy of Astrid's age named Aaron, with bark, brown hair as well as gray eyes, declared proudly, "Fear not, you guys! I will avenge you, Samandra! I will take many a foe's head this day in your honor!"

"I'm not dead, Aaron." Samandra giggled while supposedly lying wounded in Astrid's lap, brushing her bright hair out of her brilliant eyes in the meantime, "I'm still alive, you know. One arrow from an Avarosan coward wouldn't be enough to kill Sejuani. It wouldn't be enough to take me down either."

"But you're going to die, right?" Aaron wondered next, giving Samandra an awkward look since she'd stumped his heroic charge against the imagined enemies in her name, "I mean, you got shot by an arrow and then you were attacked by the direwolves of the Frostguard and then – Oh, whatever! Get ready Frostguard! Get ready Avarosans! I have the ursine of Volibear and the berserkers of Olaf behind me! You won't get away from us!"

And with that, as Samandra laughed with Astrid and the rest of the excited children, Aaron ran from behind the rocks out into the open, sunlit, empty plain of the mountain where he slashed, thrust along with punched at imaginative enemies with his imagined axe and shield. Next, inspired by his heroism, in the name of their fallen leader, the rest of Samandra's gang – followed by a determined Antony who kept falling over his own feet – took off to join Aaaron in fighting off Avarosans as well as Frostguards.

Soon enough, not wanting to miss out on the fun, ignoring if they were injured or not, Samandra and Astrid ran out into the open to join their friends in the sunlit plain where the imaginative battle was raging all around them. There, for hours on end, the children fought bravely, fell back to the rocks to avoid more arrows, defeated many an enemy, died good deaths, made their ancestors proud… and like the kids they were, they were ignorant the entire time of how truly terrible the war of the north would be in the near future.

For no matter how hard they tried nowadays, due to their innocence of many things, the children could not understand just what the battles to come to their parents would cost them during the approaching days. They could not understand that the coming days would be longer than long and the whiteness of the snows of Freljord would be turned crimson soon enough.


End file.
